The Café in Fir Tree Park

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She twists her body round to the direction of my voice and pops her slathering tongue out of her mouth. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear she was making fun of me.

Fern (#ulink_deea7777-c4ed-5cf8-a4b5-427e47f34be1)

Kelly’s blonde hair glimmers in the sun as she enters the café, a worried expression on her face. My stomach lurches. I’m not good at managing awkward conversations at the best of times and this is likely to be one of the most difficult conversations I’ve ever had.

I’d told Kelly the cold hard facts on the phone, and she’d seemed to take it well. At least, she hadn’t broken down in tears or asked me questions I didn’t know the answers to. She’d replied with a quiet ‘okay’ at the end of each sentence and then thanked me for letting her know. Talking in person was going to be much harder than talking over the phone though. There’s something about seeing people’s expressions that makes it harder to control my own emotions.

“I can’t stay long,” she says in a whisper, her eyes flickering around the café. “If Mum sees me here she’ll go crazy. She thinks I’m at home revising. I was revising until I got your phone call. Now I can’t think of anything except Luke.”

Her expression is weary and pained and I can only imagine mine is worse. I had two hours of broken sleep last night, and my body can tell. It wants to curl up and shut down, but I’m not going to let it. I’ve got too much to do.

“I wish I hadn’t had to tell you, and I wish I had better news, but all we can do is wait for him to get over this infection so they can operate.”

“When I saw him on Thursday he was fine,” Kelly hisses through gritted teeth. “He told me the headaches had gone. I thought they were stress-related because he’s been working so hard lately. How wrong was I?”

I shrug.

“I don’t know, Kel. Maybe Thursday was a good day. All I know is that last night he was screaming in pain. I was lying in bed reading one minute and the next Luke was crying out for me to come and help him. The panic in his voice …” I shudder at the memory. “He thought he was going blind, said he couldn’t see anything but black. It was terrifying.”

“I should have been there for him. I’ve known for weeks that he’s not been right. If only I’d taken it more seriously…”

I hold my hand up to stop her mid-flow.

“There’s nothing you could have done, nothing any of us could have done. Luke has a brain tumour. We couldn’t have stopped it happening.”

I appreciate how helpless she feels. I’d had all the same thoughts myself last night, the ‘what ifs’ and ‘if onlys’, and the guilt had eroded my soul until I’d finally snatched a restless sleep leaning on my dad’s bony shoulder.

“I should have said something. Maybe if I’d told him to go to the doctor and get it checked out he’d have listened to me?”

“Kelly, please. Stop beating yourself up over this. If you’d tried to get him to go to the doctor he’d only have thought you were nagging. You know as well as I do that he hates making a fuss.”

“I can’t bear to think of him in hospital.” Kelly looks so unsure, her usual confident persona nowhere to be seen. “Poor Luke. Hospitals are depressing, full of old people waiting to die. He must be so scared. Can I go and see him?”

She’s looking at me with such hope, but I know there’s no way she can come to the hospital. My parents would hit the roof, especially in their current emotional state. “He’s not allowed visitors at the moment, because his immune system’s so low and they really need to get him back to full strength so they can operate.”

I’m not lying, but we both know it’s only half the reason. My dad had walked in on Kelly and Luke kissing at Luke’s eighteenth birthday party back in January. He’d been furious, despite both of them trying to explain that it was a typical drunken snog, the sort most teenagers have after a few too many alcopops.

I guess I’ve not been a typical teenager, holding out for someone who’s way out of my league, so my old-fashioned parents haven’t got experience in knowing what to expect from a hormone-addled adolescent. They’d already made it clear they thought it was outrageous that within Luke’s gang of closest friends there was a girl who identified as bisexual, and rather than being ashamed of her sexuality, openly revelled in it. Finding Luke kissing her was a complete shock for my prudish dad, so when they announced they were dating he took it as a personal insult. In his mind, Luke wasn’t seeing Kelly because he liked her, he was doing it just to wind him up.

Mum had inevitably sided with Dad in a bid to keep the peace, whereas I stood up for Luke. If it had been anyone other than Kelly that Luke had been dating there wouldn’t have been anywhere near as much fuss; that was what got to me more than anything. Sometimes it’s as though Dad’s stuck in the dark ages. He didn’t believe Kelly would be able to ‘give up girls’ as though being monogamous and bi-sexual was as mythical as unicorns or fat-free donuts, rather than a perfectly normal way of life.

It all came to a head last month after a blazing row where Dad forbade Luke to spend any more time with Kelly, and since then they’ve been seeing each other in secret. My parents don’t have a clue that they’re still together. No one does, except me and their closest friends. Even Maggie believes they parted ways. She’s mentioned her fear of Kelly and miserable Mischa getting back in touch numerous times, and although I’ve wanted to reassure her there’s no chance of that happening I haven’t been able to. It’s not my place.

Kelly’s shoulders sink, as though she’s physically deflating. I can tell how much she wants to be able to support Luke, how now more than ever she longs to be able to tell the world that she’s his girlfriend.

“I wish I could see him. I wish I could give him a hug and tell him how much he means to me.”

I fix my eyes on hers.

“You don’t have to tell him anything. You’ve been together for months now, he knows how much you love him.”

Kelly shakes her head. “He doesn’t. He thinks I hate him.”

I can see she’s welling up and for one awful moment I think she might cry. I’ve seen enough tears in the past twenty-four hours to last me a lifetime, I don’t think I can take many more.

“He doesn’t think you hate him. He asked me to let you know what was going on. He wouldn’t have done that if he thought you wouldn’t care. You two have been through so much together already, and for what it’s worth I think you’re the perfect couple.”

“The perfect couple no one knows about,” Kelly replies sadly. “How am I supposed to support him when I’m not even allowed to be near him?”

“Bide your time. For now, I’ll be the messenger for you and I’m taking Luke’s phone to the hospital later too – we were in such a rush yesterday to get him checked out that we didn’t even think to take it. And I’m sure that one day Mum and Dad will get over it. If they saw how much love you two have for each other I know they’d give you both their blessing. They might be old-fashioned but they’re not monsters.”

Kelly looks away, shamefaced, but her words catch me unawares.

“You don’t understand. The last time I saw Luke we had this dreadful argument. He said he couldn’t cope with the secrecy any more and that we should either tell everyone about our relationship or else call it a day. And I got so angry. Not angry at him, more angry at the situation. Angry that my sexuality has caused so many problems for us. Something inside me just snapped, and I took it all out on Luke. Do you know what the last thing I said to him was?”

I shake my head.

“The last words I said to Luke were ‘drop dead’.”

And then the tears do start to fall, both mine and hers.

“Oh Fern, what if he does die? What have I done?”

Maggie (#ulink_45a2d840-157e-5432-a5c0-33d5acfcb2a6)

The sun’s shining for Fern’s 21st birthday, the bright morning at odds with the current mood around The Lake House Café. Things have been strained recently for everyone, with Luke in hospital. Emotions are running high. There have been times lately where I’ve felt like I’m treading on eggshells, but even so I couldn’t forget Fern’s birthday.

May 15th.

It’s Clint’s birthday too, although I push that thought to the back of my mind. I don’t want Fern’s celebration to be sullied, and certainly not by thoughts of him.

I had come in early especially to decorate the café in Fern’s honour, keen that our customers knew it was a special day. I’d pinned pretty bunting proclaiming ‘Happy Birthday Fern’ so the pastel triangles hung beneath the counter and wrestled with a canister of helium to fill dozens of shimmering lilac balloons. They were the centrepieces on each table, tied with silver florist ribbon that I’d painstakingly curled with a pair of scissors. It’s a good job I’m an early bird because the whole process had taken longer than I’d anticipated, but the effort was worth it. If anyone deserves a fuss it’s Fern.

I’d also, naturally, baked a cake – a gloriously rich red velvet cake topped with thick cream-cheese frosting. I’d known as I placed one spindly white candle at its centre what Fern’s wish would be. Luke had been deemed well enough to have the operation yesterday – a gruelling ten-hour ordeal that had obviously been a worry for everyone. I knew unequivocally what Fern’s wish would be for the operation to have been a success and for life to return to normal for the Hart family as quickly as possible. Thankfully early indications were that it had gone well, with the surgeon happy that the whole tumour had been successfully removed, but he’d been quick to remind Fern’s parents that there were no guarantees. Luke would be carefully monitored, both during his immediate recovery at the hospital and as an outpatient when he was well enough to return home.

The bell above the door jangles as Fern enters the café and I grin from ear to ear at her reaction. Her jaw physically drops in surprise. Individually the changes I made might only be small, but together they make quite an impact, transforming the café into a room worthy of a party. We might not have a knees-up planned, but I’m going to make sure every person who passes through that door wishes Fern a wonderful birthday full of happiness. She needs to know exactly how important she is to everyone, and especially to me.

“Happy birthday!” I exclaim, a ripple of pleasure rushing through me at Fern’s stunned response. She’s giggling in embarrassment at the realisation this is all for her. “Twenty-one today!”

“I know,” Fern groans. “Does this mean I’m officially a grown-up? Am I meant to suddenly have the answer to the meaning of life?”

I laugh. If only.

“I don’t think so, but if you find it, let me know. I’m still searching for that one myself. Now come here, you. Let me give you a birthday squeeze.”

Fern humours me, letting me wrap her up in a ginormous bear hug. Her body’s warm and soft, a joy to cuddle.

“I’ve got a present for you, too,” I say excitedly.

The younger girl’s eyes light up.

“You didn’t have to get me anything. I wasn’t expecting a present.”

“I know you weren’t, but I wanted to,” I insist. “Plus, I thought you might not have much to open. Your family have a lot on right now.”

There’s no point skirting around the issue. This has been a matter of life and death for Luke and as special as a big birthday is, I didn’t blame Fern’s parents for being distracted. Naturally Luke is at the forefront of their mind at the moment, being as poorly as he’s been.

Reaching beneath the counter, I pull out a neatly wrapped box. It’s not quite square (but near enough) and wrapped in tastefully ruched white tissue paper tied with a silky, pale purple ribbon that matches the balloons. What can I say? My eye for detail is impeccable. Handing it over with a grin, I watch as Fern carefully peels back the layers, waiting for the reaction.

As the birthday girl takes in the robin’s-egg-blue box, I know it was the perfect choice. Her eyes widen, she giggles nervously, and her hand reaches for her mouth, shocked.

“No way,” she stutters finally, her voice a trembly, squeaky mess. “This is too much. You got me a present from Tiffany’s?”

“Open it up and see for yourself,” I tease.

Fern carefully prises the lid off the box, gasping as she sees its contents. Nestled inside is a delicate silver chain with a small round disc hanging from it, engraved with an ‘F’ in swirling twirling script. It’s understated yet beautiful just like its new owner, a perfect keepsake for a milestone birthday.

“It’s too much,” Fern says, but I can tell she loves it. She’s gently fingering the charm, feeling the weight of it against the pads of her fingertips.

“Nonsense,” I pooh-pooh. “You’re only going to turn twenty-one once. It’s worth celebrating.”

I smile and nod towards the cake on the counter in case it’s been overshadowed by the jewellery. The cakes are the showstoppers at The Lake House Café.

“And naturally there’s a sweet treat too. If you want cake for breakfast then that’s fine by me – your day, your rules – or if you’d rather take it home to share with your family that’s perfectly okay too. I can easily box it up.”

Fern looks genuinely moved by all the fuss. She’s been graciously in the background for so long that it’s almost as though she’s forgotten how it feels to be the centre of attention.

“Thank you,” she manages, finally regaining her composure. She shakes her head in disbelief. “I’ll have a slice in a minute.”

“You’re more than welcome,” I assure her, placing my hand on her arm. “You’ve been such an asset to the café and more than that, you’re a good friend to me too, and to Kelly.” I take a deep breath before talking again. I need to choose my words carefully. “She told me everything last night, you know, about how her and Luke have been seeing each other in secret because your mum and dad can’t handle the fact she’s had girlfriends in the past.”

Fern gasps.

“I’ve got to admit that hurt me, to think my daughter can’t be open about her relationships, not even with me, because of other people’s prejudice. It’s hard to accept, especially as her sexuality has never, ever been an issue to me. But she also told me how supportive you’ve been of her and Luke’s relationship even when your parents have disapproved, and I can’t tell you how much I appreciate that, Fern. You’re a good friend and a wonderful sister, and now more than ever the pair of them are going to be grateful for having you on their side.”

I’d been shocked when my daughter had broken down yesterday evening, initially thinking it was the exhaustion of her self-imposed revision timetable causing her to go into meltdown. It turns out it was good old-fashioned matters of the heart, and we’d both struggled to keep our emotions in check as she poured out her feelings. I’d been tempted to go round and give Mr and Mrs Hart a piece of my mind, tell them how Kelly’s an amazing girl. How her past relationships are none of their bloody business and have no bearing whatsoever on the love she has for Luke. I’d only restrained myself because of the enormous stress they’re under right now, although Kelly had looked wary when she’d seen me cracking my knuckles as though preparing to go to battle. If it hadn’t been for Luke I’d have gone round all guns blazing.

“Things are different now I know they’re together. It explains a lot about how erratically Kelly’s been behaving. She hates not being able to go to the hospital to visit, but she told me you’d been keeping her in the loop. She’s lucky to have a friend like you, Fern. We all are. Happy birthday, sweetheart.”

Fern fans her hands in front of her eyes, her lips pursed tightly together as she struggles to hold back tears.

“I’m so sorry for my parents,” she says. “They’re not bad people, they just don’t understand.” She examines the necklace once more, draping the disc over her fingers. “Can you help me put this on? I struggle when they’ve got fiddly clasps. I’m such a butterfingers.”

“I thought you’d never ask,” I jest, before gladly fixing the necklace around Fern’s neck. When she turns to face me, hands outstretched in front of her as though inviting opinion, I nod my approval. “It looks lovely.”

“Whoever bought it must have had exceptionally good taste,” Fern teases back, and in that one moment she looks more carefree than she has in the past fortnight. It’s lovely to see, and I wish I had a camera to capture a picture of her happiness in what has been a difficult time. “Speaking of taste, let’s get a knife and make a start on that cake. It looks scrumptious. In fact, almost too good to eat.”

I tut with modesty as I retrieve a knife from the drawer, a smart silver blade with an ornate handle that’s saved for special occasions. I hand it to Fern.

“You do the honours, birthday girl.”

Fern giggles. As I give a solitary and somewhat off-key rendition of ‘Happy Birthday’, she pushes the knife into the airy sponge. I’m not sure if it’s my bum notes or that she’s had her fill of time in the spotlight, but I notice her catch sight of the clock hanging on the far wall amid a multitude of dangling, lilac-coloured heart decorations. “We should have opened up already!” she exclaims.

“No one’s banging the door down, so I’m sure it’s fine,” I assure her. “Stop worrying. Now, let me have a tiny taste of that cake before we open that door…”

The slice she hands me is enormous, but I don’t complain. Just this once, the punters can wait.

Lacey (#ulink_e6b7ea60-d19b-561b-871c-8c034a3bb27e)

My heart’s pounding in my chest and my mouth is uncomfortably full of saliva. My bedraggled hair’s sticking to the sweat on my face and neck too, and that’s not to mention the unpleasant sticky sensation under my armpits. Every part of me feels grimy. No wonder everyone I passed on my last lap of the park kept a wide berth. I must look like some kind of wild beast, a freakishly unkempt animal that’s escaped from the circus or something. Ick.

I thought I’d be finding this running malarkey easier by now. That once I’d got past the first few horrific runs it’d suddenly fall into place and I’d be like a victorious athlete heading into the stadium at the end of a marathon – tired from the physical exertion, but with that athletic glow and built-in grit that compels the naturally sporty to push themselves until the bitter end. In reality I’m a hot mess of sweaty exhaustion. Whoever made up that crap about women ‘glowing’ rather than sweating obviously never saw me doing laps around the park when it’s already scorching hot.